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He's found out on his way to the kitchen, though he has no idea how Enjolras knows this soon. Grantaire is walking, shuffling along as he's still half-asleep this late in the day, and he's smothering a yawn into the crook of his arm when someone grabs his shoulder and yanks on him so hard he nearly loses his feet.
"You've been drinking," Enjolras says. His voice is so low Grantaire can feel it in his stomach. "You've been drinking and you promised me you wouldn't."
He bodily turns Grantaire around and snaps, "Are there any promises you won't break?"
Grantaire knows that he's hurt only because of their intimacy the day before; he knows that and forcefully reminds himself of that but there is something about the insult that makes the sting linger. He's not drunk enough to remember but he's smart enough to know that whatever Enjolras is referring to, whatever promises he's broken before, it nearly broke them too.
Enjolras releases Grantaire so suddenly that the drunkard reels so as not to fall and Apollo does not help him regain his balance, instead taking two steps back and then two more.
"I won't do this again," he says, his voice like thunder and rain--when gods get angry their human bodies cannot contain their energy and it bleeds from his skin in waves of heat, scorching gusts of torrid air that lash Grantaire's hair. "If you would rather get drunk than be with me I need to know."
"Enjolras," Grantaire says with a shake of his head, "Don't be like this."
He hates that this is all they are--two angry gods, two petulant children who may never grow up. If one of them could keep their head this would be different but the arguments are vicious and they always will be; when Enjolras narrows his eyes and barks, "You should take some time to decide," Grantaire can't help but feel a surge of true anger in response.
"Fine," he says, his voice leeched of emotion. "I'll see you at dinner."
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But Grantaire ends up not coming to dinner after all. The gods notice his absence and exchange loaded glances but Enjolras doesn't provide them with any useful information on his whereabouts. In fact he doesn't seem to be very surprised about the missing alcoholic at all and when Jehan asks, he suggests not to call him yet.
"It's really not that important," Enjolras says idly. "He'll be back in a few days."
Jehan looks hopefully at Combeferre who in turn asks Enjolras, "Do you know why he went down?" He's on his laptop, eating a sandwich from a plate to the side while Enjolras leans over his shoulder to see the screen. Apollo sits up a bit at the question, frowning.
"We're fighting," he finally admits, and that's all that really needs to be said. Everybody knows that when Apollo and Dionysus argue it is the latter who goes down to the mortals to get away from it and that, more often than not, it's where he'll stay for as long as he can stomach it.
Jehan frowns and picks at his potato chips, turning one over between his fingers. Enjolras notices and sighs, conjuring a small smile for the gardener. "If he's not back in five days I'll go down and find him," he promises and that's much better than what he usually offers. Jehan quite enthusiastically takes it.
"Thank you," he says, relieved, and leans over the table to kiss Enjolras' cheek (a gesture the blonde begrudgingly allows, hiding his small smile).
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When Grantaire is fresh from a fight like this and hurting like it will never get better he drinks--and when he drinks he becomes what he used to be, a wild and unbridled god, an immortal so alien to humans that before their beliefs faded they knew him on sight.
He's sitting in a bar when a trio of three guys come in behind him. They're already drunk and falling all over each other, laughing in that loud way drunks seem to favor as they pull the door shut. Grantaire spares them a passing glance and empties his beer, fighting not to pay attention to their raucous voices.
He does his best to ignore them but as their commentary grows louder and lewder he gives up; he pays his tab and stands, frazzled from the human alcohol but not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be. He walks outside and is too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice that the men leave shortly after him, their laughter spilling out onto the streets.
"Hey!" One calls, the brunette that looks like the leader. Grantaire pockets his hands and says nothing and the man tries again, this time calling, "Hey, you! The curly-haired fuck!"
Setting his jaw Grantaire slows and turns, facing them with hunched shoulders. "What?" He snaps, fighting to ignore the kindling of anger in the pit of his stomach. He remembers perfectly all those times he's hurt humans before and disappointed his brothers (although foremost in his thoughts is Enjolras' face, crowned with that frown he takes on when someone has proven to him their inferior worth).
"That bartender was only lookin' at you," a blonde says, far more slurred than the other. He points vaguely at Grantaire and says, "You gotta share, man."
Grantaire furrows his brow and says, "Didn't mean anything by it, man," and turns to start walking again. If that's all they're angry about this will be easy--he'll just keep walking and they'll never know how close they came to being fried.
But then the last of the trio says loudly, "Guys, did you see that paint smeared in his hair? I think our friend here is a faggot."
Grantaire curls his fingers into fists and tries to remain calm, beginning to walk faster. His shoes click on the sidewalk and he can hear them behind him, gossiping about how he must be gay because he passed up their bartender. He turns down an alley and carefully slows and they follow him back here too, the sounds of traffic fading the farther in they go.
"You took a wrong corner, douchebag," the blonde yells, the other two trailing after him. The alley is long and the opposite mouth opens onto a deserted sidestreet, dark at this hour and virtually silent. Grantaire stops and faces them and in the single streetlight his eyes flash a blue so dark they're nearly black. The bulb goes out with a sizzle of electricity and a pop.
"This sure ain't your lucky day," the leader says, rolling his sleeves up as they advance. He's grinning and looks like a bully who has just seen the new fat kid; he believes this will be easy, that they'll beat the shit out of Grantaire and walk home feeling like heroes.
Grantaire smiles and lets the anger loose, feels it slink down his arms and settle in his palms. He is the god of many things but he specializes in madness and as he glides towards them he feels a touch of it himself. He revels in knowing what will come next.
He spends his time ripping them apart and once he's stolen their voices their cries go unheard. He hasn't let himself go like this in a century, not since he roamed the earth with his Maenads and indgulged in the slaughters they yearned for. He is painted with gore and glows with power, his godhood undeniable in the way he stands when he finishes and blood drips from his fingertips.
"It looks like it wasn't your lucky day," he says to one of the heads, chuckling as he wraps his fingers in the hair and lifts. The wide eyes stare at him in fright and he laughs as he tosses it disdainfully over his shoulder, snapping his fingers as he walks away. He disappears in a puff of smoke that curls leisurely around his ankles and the unmistakable sound of thunder and abandons the broken bodies behind him, their blood glinting black under the wane illumination of the moon.
+++++
He tracks blood as he walks through the marble halls of Olympus, his bare feet leaving perfect red footprints in his wake. Everyone knows he's returned but none dare to see him; they can feel his power saturating the air around him and the weight of it leaves them with no doubt. He's done something tonight, something reckless and stupid, and cautiously they unanimously decide to let it go 'til morning.
But Enjolras has never been one to follow decisions he does not support and he leaves his room after Jehan has told him, having little difficulty pursuing Grantaire to the kitchen. He's on his hands and knees on the floor and rooting chaotically through a cupboard, his jeans smearing blood on the tile whenever he shifts his weight, when Enjolras comes in behind him.
"What did you do?" He asks and Grantaire looks back at him incredulously.
A long silence expands between them and finally Grantaire gives in--he says aloud what Enjolras needs to hear. "I murdered three people," he says, sounding remarkably calm. "Three drunk jackasses so I believe I was well in my right."
Enjolras looks at him with that expression Grantaire had remembered earlier, a disappointed frown that even makes his eyes look let down. Somehow he resists lecturing him and instead gestures for him to stand, placing his hands on his hips as Grantaire straightens. He's holding a bottle of amber ambrosia in one hand, the bottle he'd been after, and it's obvious his hands are shaking from watching the sloshing of the liquid inside.
"Why did you kill them?" He asks patiently.
"Because they were pissing me off," Grantaire answers, the warmth of annoyance obvious in his tone. "Because I was already mad at you and they had to come and fuck my day up even more."
Enjolras lifts an eyebrow. "That seems like a poor excuse to murder someone."
"Really?" Grantaire asks, his mouth pursed. "Does drinking so they'll remember strike you as a good reason to leave someone?"
Enjolras frowns and has to soothe out the jump in his jaw before he can answer, which Grantaire understands once he hears what he has to say. "No," he begins, clenching his teeth. "I'm sorry for that."
Grantaire's anger is smothered by the unexpected apology and the next insult dissipates on his tongue. Enjolras continues over his surprise, barreling on with the knowledge that if he's interrupted he probably won't be able to start up again. "I'm sorry for picking a fight because truly I understand what you're doing, and I even understand why--I can't imagine having my memories taken away--but I... disagreed with your method."
"I... By Zeus, Enjolras, all I can say is apology accepted." He can't help his smile (as much as he tries to) and he shakes his head, ignorant to the fact that his hands have stopped trembling. "If you get a better idea though, tell me."
Enjolras nods curtly. "And until I find something you have to agree that you'll only drink when you're supervised, and only the minimum you need to start remembering."
Doubtfully Grantaire accepts the conditions, suppressing his resentment at being told he was now expected to have chaperones. Enjolras watches him and smiles a bit, brushing a thumb across Grantaire's forehead. "You may start tonight, if you'd like," he invites graciously and Grantaire laughs.
"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to do something with you." Grantaire's grin broadens at the way Enjolras blinks at him and he says, "It's been a few days since we've done anything fun."
"The only way I'm agreeing to a date is if you change," he answers, inclining his head towards Grantaire's bloody clothes with a wrinkle of his nose. He sounds playful but Grantaire obeys all the same, swapping his outfit for a clean pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt depicting an old rock and roll band.
"Better?" He asks, the blood vanishing from the floor with a thought. He turns for Enjolras' inspection and allows it when he grabs his hand, pulling Grantaire in for a kiss.
"You taste of alcohol," he remarks, and Grantaire kisses his frown until he's found the amused smile beneath.
"I'll brush my teeth," he tells him, though neither move. They stand with mere inches between them for an enduring minute and then Enjolras laughs and kisses him again.
"Go do that," he says, breaking the contact. Grantaire sways when Enjolras backs away, the pounding of the alcohol heavy in the back of his head. He blinks owlishly at Enjolras, having already forgotten what it was he had offered to go do. Seeing Grantaire's puzzled expression Enjolras laughs and clarifies with, "Brush your teeth."
"Ah," Grantaire says, smiling as he straightens. "Yes. Teeth brushing. I'll be right back."
Enjolras watches him hurry away with a smile that can only be described as affectionate, and settles against the counter to wait for his return.